Beauty Is Terror
by Cant-Choose-A-Fandom
Summary: Terrifying Tolkien Week, Day 5: "beauty is terror". Celegorm is remembered in stories told around campfires under the moonlight.


My third and last contribution to the Terrifying Tolkien Week. Day 5: "beauty is terror". This is based on a tumblr post from imindhowwelayinjune. I feel obliged to say that the "fairest of all monsters" line is hers, and so are most of Celegorm's titles.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters.

 **Warnings** : mild horror story around the campfire, read at your own peril

* * *

The firelight crackles as the woods burn in a pile, the red light illuminating the company of young elves in a strange fiery glow, casting shadows around the trees. The five young elves around the campfire are sitting beneath the glistering stars, laughing away as the moon shines in the sky and the darkness of the night settles deeper.

"I know a story." One of the elves says, the one closest to the fire. They have abandoned their weapons and their bags a few meters away, knowing they are safe in the forest of Imladris; and letting their guard down to spend the night before they continue for the Last Homely House in the morning. "I know just the story to tell."

The night is chilly, not as cold as it could have been,but there is a light wind around them, making the leaves on the trees rustle quietly. The company pays them no heed, too focused on their conversation.

"Say it it then, and do not let us wonder on it any longer." His friend suggests, and the first elf smiles. His brown hair look almost black in the dark, the glow of the fire giving them a slightly redder color.

"Back in the First Age," the elf started, straightening his back and letting his voice take a narrative tone, "the Exiles first came to Middle-earth form Valinor. Among them were Fëanor and his seven sons, the Seven Dispossessed. They had sworn a terrible Oath to kill anyone who stands between them and the Silmarils; three perfect jewels of the divine white light from the Trees of Aman. Many tales are told for them and the horrible crimes they committed, but worst of all of them is said to be the third son, Celegorm the Fair. Celegorm the Terrifying, those who had the poor luck to meet him, called him. _  
_

 _"He is tall and fair, but not like an elf."_ They said. _"There is something fey and strange about him."_

Celegorm the Fey, they called him, who glared down and stuck his nose up to everyone except his own brothers.

Celegorm the Hunter, who you could not believe could be subtle, because he laughs loudly, a bark-like laugh that scares the birds away. He does not temper his voice, and cares not who listens. He who walks around with a dog twice his size and everyone runs out of his way; yet, his footsteps are completely silent, and he creeps up at you unawares and you do not sense him until his hot breath is at the back of your neck."

The wind around the five friends picks, but they are too engrossed in the story to notice. The brown-haired elf continues unaware.

"They all have stories about Celegorm the Wild, who comes back form his hunts dripping in blood, but wears a wicked grin that sends shivers your spine. Celegorm the Damned, who is said to still perform the rituals of the old world and burn offerings for his old friend the Huntsman, even though he is one of the Seven Dispossessed who recognize no gods. Celegorm the Merciless, who has never missed a single kill.

 _"Celegorm the Fair indeed."_ They whisper and shiver. _"Fairest of all monsters."_

One of the elves shivers unintentionally and the others laugh at him.

"There is nothing to be afraid of." The blond elf next to him says. "He is naught but a story anymore, long gone."

They brown-haired elf smiles and continues. "Celegorm the Savage, they said, because he needed naught but hands and teeth to finish his prey, whatever it may be. Once on a hunt, his bow broke so he ripped the wolf's throat out with his bare hands!"

"Don't be absurd, Ruindolon." A black haired she-elf argued. "That is impossible."

The narrator of the story held his hands up in surrender. "I am merely telling a story, Nastrien."

"It stops being scary if you say it wrong." Nastrien stated.

"Well I don't know." The blond one said. "Lennor was scared." He grins teasingly at the silver-haired elf that had previously shivered. Lennor glares at him.

"Celegorm the Mad, they said, because it made no difference to him if his prey was an orc or a rabbit or an _elf."_ He said the last word with emphasis. "They called him Fair only in his face because fair he was indeed in appearance, but his beauty hid beneath it a monster. He killed both elves and orcs alike, and did not care about how they suffered."

The elves looked uncomfortable, but Ruindolon who had initiated the story laughed.

"Those are just stories Lennor." He said. The wind around felt colder, and Nastrien tightened her cloak around her. "They are not real."

He moved and put out the fire. The wind howled, and with it the wolves; far away in the mountains; and around them in the complete darkness, it felt as if a pair of eyes watched them silently, waiting among the rustling leaves to strike when they least expected him.

The wind grew colder, and Ruindolon could swear he heard a bark-like laugh that made him shiver in something that had nothing to do with the freezing wind.


End file.
